Imagine Us
by pleasesayitsnotso
Summary: Short Story: Set during Avengers: Age of Ultron whilst all the Avengers reside at the Barton residence, Steve and Natasha encounter a number of thoughts and feelings regarding each other. Within the chaos of recent events and with the endearing companionship of the Barton children, the two Avengers wonder the possibilities of what could be.
1. Child's Play

Unease and tension clung to the air, its presence heavy and thick among everyone, in a suffocating manner that in turn corrupted the camaraderie they had all once shared. In the safe haven that was the Barton residence, they had all dispersed, adhering to the desperate need for space, time and silence. The thrum of unspoken thoughts and opinions had drowned them all, laced with the reminders of the visions they had encountered out on the field, to the point where solitude seemed to be the only remedy.

Natasha had a well founded reputation for being fond of isolation, of the freedom and power that it bestowed, but now she felt a stiffening and sour quality towards its existence. She felt drained, emotionally more so than physically, by the reminders of a time and past she had rather forgotten. Dark shadows resided under her eyes, a refuge for her torment to remain, however it only highlighted further her pale complexion one of which made her appear rather unwell. Her lips too held the cracks and fractures of fatigue, not that she desired to converse at all, silence was equally welcome and disturbing.

The beauty of the countryside that now surrounded them, however seemed oblivious to the chaos and agitation that had settled among its current residents, and for once she was rather glad of it. Walking out onto the veranda she basked in the mellow glow of the early evening sun, its muted rays bestowing a comforting warmth upon her skin. Her eyes closed as she breathed deeply the fresh scent of grass, the smell that always accompanied those warm nights, her ears however found the sounds of not only birds but of a child's gleeful laughter. The edges of her lips crept up in response to the enchanting sound, bestowing upon her a soft smile as she opened her eyes. There among the lush green grass that went on for miles and miles, was the view of a certain Captain playing make believe with the young Cooper Barton.

Steve held his hands before him like claws as he growled animatedly, whilst the younger boy wielded awkwardly Steve's shield, with the other hand occupied by a sturdy stick, no doubt a supposed sword. Cooper's expression was one of a joyful innocence she herself had rarely encountered during her childhood, however she felt no jealousy but instead a feeling of appreciation that he did not have to endure what she did. No child deserved that.

As she watched two of her favourite boys indulge in their game, she felt the icy becoming of a saddening thought that the man before her would have been the perfect father. The expression 'would have been' had become the epitome of all the Avengers, a chance lost; an opportunity taken; and a dream squashed. He never spoke of it, but she imagined that the burgeoning affection he had felt for the infamous Peggy Carter had indeed brought with it the thoughts of a family. It seemed more so than not that the most deserving of people, were left clutching the shards of a future they had once thought they could have. Her reverie was cut short by a small hand pressing into hers, as she glanced down to find the brunette plaits of Lila Barton, as she tugged her towards the boys. Her other hand held a small plastic bow and arrow, a seeming necessity when being a child of one Clint Barton, as she exclaimed excitedly,

"Come on Aunty Nat you can help us fight the dragon." Before she knew it Natasha choked out a dry but haughty laugh, as she allowed herself to be guided along by her niece while she responded,

"It does look like your brother needs back-up."

On approaching the battle Lila let go and joined her brother behind the shield, once in position she loaded her bow with an adorable look of concentration etched upon her petite features. Whilst Cooper continued to swing and jab his 'sword' towards the 'dragon' that was Steve, Lila peeked out from behind their cover before letting her arrow fly. Despite the flimsy design of her weapon of choice, it seemed that she had indeed inherited enough of her father's skill to overturn her poorly designed bow, as the arrow struck Steve on the arm. The plastic did little harm to the muscular man that was Captain America, however clearly he was fully immersed in his current role, as he grasped on to the place where he had been 'wounded'. His chiselled features contorted into one of agony as he cried out in pain, whilst he stumbled towards the children, who giggled, squealed and screamed in glee at their triumph.

It always fascinated her to watch children play, to allow herself to observe the way in which they became so immersed in the makings of their imaginations. The perfect expressions of excitement, joy and exhilaration painted across their fair features, in a manner she had never encountered made her glad they did not have to go through what she did. Her childhood had been very much void of play, empty of the innocent fun and entertainment that a child should be able to have. She had not been meant for that, for she had been given another path in life and that was the beginning and end to it. As if on cue the children beckoned her over from her place of observation, to which she of course adhered, as she placed herself between them, before whispering enthusiastically,

"Okay guys, now he's injured what's the plan?" From where Steve stood all he could see was the tops of their heads where muted mutterings interspersed with giggles flowed from, a sound and sight which in turn induced an amused smirk upon his face. When finally their discussion ceased, Steve eyed them warily in wonderment at what mischief Natasha had passed onto the two animated children before him. It was then that Lila broke free from her cover, sprinting towards Steve in a determined fashion, he soon identified that she was in fact heading towards the location of her fallen arrow. Her little legs spurned her on, in a run of pure intent, her small feet rustling among the grass until she faltered all of a sudden. As she lost her footing she tumbled into the undergrowth in an admittedly graceful manner, which at once incited a pang of concern and apprehension upon Steve. Immediately he discarded the monstrous character he had adopted for make believes sake, and approached his fallen friend. Knelt beside her he aided her to her feet, his hands placed supportively under her arms, before he gently brushed a tendril of brunette hair that had broken free from a braid. His gaze worriedly flitted over the child as he checked for any injuries, as he softly enquired,

"Hey you okay there warrior princess?" The smile etched upon his handsome features was one to warm the heart, heal the aches and dry the tears, however on closer inspection there were none to dispel. Instead he was surprisingly met with a knowing smirk, and a pair of eyes that flickered with the all too familiar glint of mischief and cunning. His realisation that she was in fact fine, was interrupted by the oncoming pitter patter of rapid footsteps behind him, as two small arms wrapped around his neck in an attack from behind. Well played Romanoff was the distinct thought that flitted through his mind, as he allowed himself to be captured by his two small oppressors. Upon landing onto the grass the three of them became entangled in a flurry of exquisite laughter, squirming limbs and a number of avid protests against his capture by the 'dragon' himself. Natasha could not deny the chuckle that reverberated within her chest, as she observed the great and legendary Captain America become incarcerated by two mini Barton's.

Once the children had been called to bed, regretfully retreating from their brilliant game and an equally beloved new friend, Natasha approached the dishevelled figure of Steve. Holding a hand out to him, he took it gladly, as he allowed his hand to slide into hers with an ease that only came from familiarity. Coming to standing Steve brushed his hands vigorously against his thighs, before combing the fingers of one hand through his hair in an effort to tame his unkempt tresses. As he did so Natasha teasingly remarked,

"Looks like I have new competition for favourite Avenger." Casting an endearing gaze upon her he replied within a soft chuckle of disbelief,

"I could never do that they love you..." He found himself all of a sudden captured firmly by the manner in which she bowed her head and smiled in pleasure, at the mere acknowledgement of being beloved of the two children she so clearly cared for. The sight of her in such a manner, caused an enraptured expression to grace his features before he continued on,

"... good strategy by the way, clever distraction." As she glanced towards him, he wondered whether he misread the seemingly warm and affectionate way she regarded him. Her features portrayed a softness that she rarely revealed, her emerald eyes sparkling delicately in a fond manner, before she gently stated,

"Your weakness is your care and concern for others..." However as soon as it became it soon receded, as a shadow of resignation darkened the warmth she had once held him in. Her dry lips pursed in contemplation before she finished,

"... always know your enemy Steve." **It was in that moment that the reality of what they were about to face set in, this was no army of men, no power crazed or vengeful human, this was a modern intelligence that could acclimate and upgrade itself. This was beyond anything they had ever encountered before, and for once in all their lives every single Avenger felt a severe lack of optimism. However they were not ones to give up, and despite the damage they had incurred and the savage flaws they had revealed, they all believed in their duty. The duty to protect everyone, to save everyone... but it was certainly no child's play.**


	2. Secure in Arms

It seemed strange, wrong almost to be discussing what they were in the Barton family kitchen; no longer did they feel a right be there, to be anywhere in fact. Creators of destruction and chaos, here they were invading the sacred domestic home of one of their own, bringing with them the potential dangers that only their company held. The glints of hope that had once captured all of them had now tarnished to nothing, the edges of their features embellished with severe and unyielding lines of concern. The words of Fury sliced through the air, his familiar rough tone resonated against the walls and cut through the heavy silence of forethought and doubt that now held them all. Everyone had seemingly dispersed around the room, condemning themselves to out of reach corners and crevices as a means to remain apart from the other. The shadows becoming a rather inviting place to be.

Sat at the family dining table, central to the room and everyone placed upon the edge of its boundaries, Natasha observed and commented according to the discussion. Her nature and past had taught her that to hide from the inevitable was a failing that would indeed scold later, to embrace and tackle the problems of yesterday was to solve the future of tomorrow. Leant upon the wall opposite was one Steve Rogers, his casual attire and relaxed stance a decoy to the tension he so failed to conceal. His arms were crossed tightly upon his chest, a distinctive show of defence and fortification, closed off and removed from those surrounding him. His chiselled features still portrayed the beauty of an un-marred youth, although the corners of his eyes creased and wrinkled with unease, whilst the edges of his lips preferred a fixed and downturned position. It didn't suit him. Apprehension and trepidation did not sit upon him right in her view, it seemed to dull the blue of his eyes and curtail the strength in his posture in a manner that brought her a foreign discomfort. They needed him, they needed each other and in this very moment they needed it all more than ever.

An oncoming pitter patter thrummed upon the floorboards and bounded towards her, their conductor the one radiant Lila Barton. Natasha could not deny that the presence of her beloved niece brought a type of light and becoming that was much needed within the room that now held such oppressive weight and substance. The young girl, despite sensing the attendance of her father's friends and colleagues to be one of a foreign nature, lived blissfully amongst the innocence of ignorance. Something Natasha rather envied at times, to be carefree and unaware of all the evils of the world was a gift given to only those lucky children. Nestled into her side Lila presented the gift she had worked so hard on, a piece of art that had become from her fruitful and bright mind.

The world offered much and many things, Steve had seen the best and worst of a lot of it but there was one thing he did not realise he had missed. The soft curve of Natasha's lips, crafted a smile that was timeless, a classic that would never age or decay, forever a wonder. Of course he had seen her smile... countless times, but this one was different. Lighter, more gentle... but then perhaps it was her eyes too that changed its appearance. Their glisten and shine was not sharp and wicked with wit, but held a warming glow of compassion and appreciation that was wholeheartedly bequeathed to Barton's daughter. A subtle bloom crept upon her cheeks as she observed the piece of paper proffered to her, altering her smile into a beaming grin one that savoured the silence of rapture. Yes the world had given him many things, experience, love, loss, purpose, memories and friendships, yet it had kept hidden the way to make a woman like her smile like that. If only he knew.

Natasha had never been one to be creative in an artistic sense; her childhood had been occupied by the study of combat, espionage and concealment. Yes it required an imaginative flair however all of it was aimed towards an intended purpose, a result that no child should have been asked to procure. Inspired and inventive thinking was controlled and incited, prompted and moulded into a process that would become instinctive under the pressures of spontaneity, a means to an end and an objective. In those terms the nature of the creativity encouraged was in fact not creative at all; it was as everything had been in her childhood: a weapon.

Her fingertips traced the outline of the two figures drawn with such care and precision, the vibrant colours of crayon used liberally to portray an image that brought Natasha much forethought. A breathy chuckle escaped her, as she turned to Lila and animatedly conveyed all the thanks and appreciation that words could not with an endearing brush of her thumb upon her niece's cheek. The action of affection itself guided her to return an errant tendril of hair back behind the girl's ear, as she uttered benevolently,

"Thank you sweetie, it's lovely." As such words of precious praise fell upon a grateful and enthusiastic ear, Lila skipped and scuttled excitedly to where her newly beloved Captain stood. It seemed Steve's days of winning the hearts and affections of women the world over had not ceased yet. A petite fist that tugged timidly upon his trouser leg alerted him to the presence of his newest friend; her lips pursed and pulled into a nervous line as she awaited his attentions. As if the mere vicinity of Lila eased all the worries and tension Steve held upon him, his features noticeably softened making way for a warm assuring smile that was only ever his. His hands reached out and clasped around the child's waist before he gathered her into his arms with elegant ease, Lila positively melted into his embrace as her body moulded to him. Once settled Steve whispered to his new companion,

"You okay?" Her little head nodded enthusiastically, an adorable beaming smile providing the evidence to show there was nowhere she would rather be. As if to further cement that fact she snuggled further into him, her head now leant upon his shoulder as her fingers tapped upon his shoulders playfully. Natasha could not deny that the vision before her was certainly a delectable sight to be seen, although yet again she could not shake the notion that this was what Steve had missed. This part of life where family became the most important element, had been lost to him, a clear wish that had been scuppered the moment he became Captain America. The moment he sacrificed it all for everyone.

The remnants of that thought coerced her to glance back to the picture before her, an image that she too had allow to cross her mind despite its fleeting and unwanted presence. The paper before her pictured two people holding hands, one wore black with vibrant red curls that seemed to almost overcome the small female figure. Beside her was a man, a man with golden hair, bright azure eyes and the all too famous shield that indicated this was in fact Steve Rogers, **_the_** Captain America. This was them, together. Broad and blissful smiles beheld their round faces, whilst above their linked hands a crimson heart hovered. How easy in a child's mind was it to visualize and portray love, to make and create what was known as a 'happily ever after', to envision what should be. If only it was that easy, if only everything was black and white and so clear cut. Life was not that and Natasha's had certainly taught her that to assume that anything was easy or to an end was indeed a mere thought of folly, something time and effort could not afford. Especially now.

Casting one last glance toward her colleague and niece she noted how the latter's limbs hung loosely, her shoulders rising and falling in a soft tandem of sleeping breaths. Steve himself had not noticed, his attention still bequeathed upon the room and the solemn discussion that held it, as his strong arms remained holding his new friend. The sanctuary they had made clearly a place where safety and contentment was held in abundance, where all fears and worries were shed and left behind. **That didn't look like a bad place to be.**


	3. All Reason

Words from the night before had long been silenced; however their weight and severity clung to the walls bestowing upon the house and its residents a discomfort that refused to move. Making his way along the hall Steve felt as though he was caught within another vision, his presence and those of his fellow teammates was foreign and wrong. The world's constant and timeless spin had been disrupted, corrupted by a poor man's attempt at its protection, yet here the people responsible occupied a rare piece of peaceful domesticity. It wasn't right. Despite the oncoming challenge that the present was sure to gift, the opportunity to fix an escalating error, he could not shake the distinct feeling that they were hiding. All of them for individual reasons, many of the selfish kind and the majority an antagonising extension of the self loathing they all harboured. The faces of his team bore the brunt of this, desperation, fatigue and guilt all clawing at their once sharp determined features. To fight and win this time was not enough... not for him anyway.

Entering the kitchen his eyes befell upon the one Mrs Barton, her back to him as she shuffled along the perimeters of the counter tops, her hands busied in well versed motions as she prepared breakfast. The manner in which she had opened up her home to them portrayed a trusting and welcoming nature, whilst the maternal care and affection she bestowed upon her children reminded him heavily of a woman who had been so important to him. Sarah Rogers. Always willing to do what she could for those in need, no matter how or big or small her compassion held no boundaries or restraints. Their needs currently far outweighed anything anyone could offer and yes a breakfast was in no way a solution to what was required, but it was something. Something was better than nothing.

"Good Morning ma'm, would you like some help?" A tremor quivered along the expanse of her back, proving that his presence had been a surprise although a second later her composure returned. Turning toward him, a welcoming smile graced her lips as she greeted him graciously,

"Morning Steve, I think I'm good thanks. Plus this kitchen is organised chaos, which only I can really make any sense of." His mind instantly conjured the memory of his mother, surrounded by pots and pans, laundry and who knows what else as she too laboured within organised chaos. In all honesty her chaos had not only consisted of domestic mess and chores, no his poor sick being and his father's... behaviour had incurred upon her more stress than she deserved. As soon as one job was completed another four fell upon her, work was never done, her chaos never ceased and that had been much of her life. She had done so much for him, the burden he had been on her scathed him so with an agonising guilt that failed to leave. He owed her so much, yet time had robbed him of a chance to pay his debt. His debts were suspended and unfinished made so by the oh so frequent presence of death, a reality which seemed to not be done yet.

His wandering thoughts fled into the silent shadows that letched upon the corners of the room, the empty space where they once were allowing his gaze to wander too. In doing so he saw upon the table a discarded newspaper, his need for occupation and activity bringing him to be seated, the paper in hand. He liked that despite all technological advancements somehow the simple newspaper had managed to survive, how much longer was unknown, but it brought some comfort that man still prized the printed word. In shifting it from its previous place of rest, his eye was caught by an image of what looked to be his shield. The vibrant red and blue had become somewhat of an emblem that represented all he was supposed to be, in doing so he found that rather egotistically he immediately identified those colours to him, this case proved him right. His fingertips pressed upon the edges of the piece, the smooth table surface allowing it to glide toward him, before his thumb and index finger spun it to its correct position. A child's drawing; a depiction of something a young Barton envisioned a picture of him and the one Natasha Romanoff.

As the typical chaos this modern age indulged in ran rampant and riot, Natasha had been the one constant and supportive presence for him during a somewhat shaky adjustment period. In doing so she had unknowingly secured a significant role within his life: a confidant, a tutor, a teammate and more importantly a friend. The whimsical expression however that had embellished his strong features suggested that perhaps he too had fallen victim to not knowing, or perhaps it was merely denial. The slight curve at the edge of lips procured two meagre dimples, his eyes glazed in consideration of all he could see, of all he could feel... of all that could be?

Red. A colour that had come to signify many moments in his life, blood, flag, Captain, lips, blush, Skull, curls, fire. Love? His gaze poured over the crimson heart, illustrated so carefully, that hung suggestively in the air between the two figures. His fingertips traced the outline, as his gaze fell to where the characters hands met, touched and held. The time to wonder and dream however was not his, a reminder made by the rhythmic thunder of rapid little feet that interjected his line of thought. Lila Barton had become rather attached to one Steve Rogers, her attentions were fixed and devoted to him in the manner that all children did when a new friend was made. The energy she possessed astounded Steve, she seemed to constantly pulsate and tremor with it, an excitement and life that just had to be expended but never ceased. The innocence of intrigue blossomed in her and he found he wished that he too possessed the time, energy and disposition to join her. Clambering upon his knee she settled willingly upon his lap, her desire to do so had meant he had limited choice in the matter, not that he could or would have refused,

"Morning ma'm." The expression of pure delight and admiration that graced her petite features was one that startled and gleamed, so much so that Steve almost wished that today had never come. That today he was not leaving and heading towards a possible situation in which a return was not promised, a situation where the father of two... no three, beautiful children may cease to be. Clint had to survive; there was no question about it.

"Good morning Uncle Steve." On being bestowed such a title his body thrummed with a warmth he had not felt in a long time, his heart swelled as the heat of affection and surge of pride flooded his veins. To be put upon a podium was something Steve had become accustomed to, but on those occasions it was mainly due to the title that the serum had gifted him, to be held in such esteem as just Steve... well that was something he prized above all. His arms closed around the precious being sat before him, her weight resting pleasantly in the crook of his arm as she laid her head upon his chest, as he exclaimed,

"I'm 'Uncle Steve' now am I?" Looking up from under her long dark lashes she nodded vigorously in confirmation of what he'd asked of her. Her mussed and tangled brunette locks pressed against him, their tendrils attaching to the stark white of his t-shirt and further bristled by the motion of her enthusiastic nods. There was a menagerie of reasons his team, the Avengers, did what they did many of those became from a heavy guilt of their past transgressions, the mistakes that simply wouldn't leave, that clung and consumed. But here, right now, was what should be the only reason, the only reason that mattered more than any other. Family: family made on love. To keep together people who cherished and cared for each other unconditionally, to protect those that prized and nurtured that precious bond, that should be the reason. His eyes glanced toward the picture that remained where he had placed it, and it drew with it a thought that perhaps that reason was closer to him that he thought. **She could be his reason.**


End file.
